61 Frames Per Second : 16-bit

I Don't Think I Missed Much: Beyond Oasis

Nadia Oxford — Wed, 15 Apr 2009 01:16:00 GMT

Sonic's Ultimate Genesis Collection has proved invaluable in helping me patch the gaming gaps inflicted by my childhood loyalty to Nintendo. Aside from suffering at the hands of Altered Beast, I've been working my way through Beyond Oasis.

Beyond Oasis is an action-RPG that was released in 1995, a particularly rich vein of gaming history. Its top-down sword-swinging action is most often compared to The Legend of Zelda, though the large sprites, interchangeable weapons and focus on fighting over puzzle-solving remind me more of Secret of Mana.

With Secret of Mana being one of my very favourite ~~instruments of torture~~ video games, you would think that I'd latch right on to the Sega Genesis alternative about an Arabian boy with blue eyes and blonde hair. Alas, it has just not been so. Beyond Oasis works well as a distraction to pick at while waiting for my potatoes to boil, but something about it feels hollow. It feels strange to make this discovery, because I spent a lot of energy pretending not to care when the first big, beautiful screenshots of Beyond Oasis hit game magazines.

It's hard to name exactly what turns me off about Beyond Oasis. It might be the boxed-in feeling I get from maneuvering a big sprite on comparatively small playing fields. It might be the lame puzzles, or the unresponsive nature of Ali's elemental helpers. It might be the awful sound effects and voice samples. Really, Sega, if you can't conjure up a convincing “squeak” for your mutant rat enemies, don't stick me with something that sounds like a pen tapping the side of a glass.

I think I'm also irritated by the way the nondescript male townspeople swagger with their bellies sticking out a mile. The story isn't much to write home to mother about, either. Just something about the infinite scary power of a gold armlet, and a quest to find its silver mate. It's strange how A Link to the Past had a minimal story too, but it was presented in a manner that drove me from dungeon to dungeon, eager to find out what was next.

Even the graphics don't impress me as much as those old magazine pictures. The bright whites, greens and yellows are difficult for my eyes to digest. The world presented in Secret of Mana is painted in shades of unicorn puke, but the colours are soft and mesh well together. But hey, at least Beyond Oasis has this totally awesome anime intro, you guys. omg bettar than disney.

On the other hand, Sonic's Ultimate Genesis Collection offers a library of varied titles, and it can be hard to shift from one to the other. I'm currently working my way through Phantasy Star IV, which takes place in an arid world that's nearly spent. Switching into the technicolour lands of Beyond Oasis after a slog through Motavia would melt the eyes off a cyborg. I'll choose my playtime a little more carefully, keep going, and see where I end up. I know I've seen screenshots of a neat dragon boss. I want to celebrate its majesty by stabbing it.

Related Links:

I Will Defeat You, Altered Beast
The Untold Story of Sega Killing Their Own Hardware Business
Gaga for Segaga

Unsolicited Scares: St Eva from Breath of Fire II Loves You Thiiis Much

Nadia Oxford — Tue, 14 Apr 2009 03:02:00 GMT

Circumstances beyond my control got me thinking the other day about Breath of Fire II, Capcom's SNES RPG for totally buff men (unless the US box art is lying to me). Breath of Fire II was my first experience with a God-slaying JRPG, and it stuck with me for a few reasons. Reason one: it nearly made me crap my pants.

Every good Messiah hunt includes a foray into the Master's den of cultists, and Breath of Fire predictably sends the hero Ryu and his pals into the heart of St Eva's town towards the end of the game. St Eva is God, but he's not benevolent. What a twist!

The story makes it obvious that St Eva stinks of corruption and rancid food (flowing robes are catch-alls for cheese and salsa drippings), so Ryu is a bit put off when he walks into St Eva's town and finds it a bustling, happy place. Revelers comment on the beautiful weather, the lame can walk, the blind can see, and every dog has a wagging tail.

Ryu thinks, “Well, maybe I had this Eva fellow pegged wrong,” and decides he needs to reconsider his options. He exits the town--

--and finds himself back inside the town gates.

Suddenly, the warm air is icy, and the friendly townspeople have transformed into cackling, shambling husks. I'm making the event sound especially chilly because it had a personal effect on me. See, there was this time I was in a death cult, and—just kidding. But there is a specific reason I never, ever forgot my trip to St Eva's Land.

I'm a very vivid dreamer. Said dreams don't always take me to pleasant places, but I'm used to them by now:

“How did you sleep?”

“Had a dream about dead puppies covered in flies, but all right otherwise.”

So I'm used to waking up, saying “Ugh, okay,” and getting on with my life. But there are still specific dreams that I classify as nightmares. Namely, I fight to get out of a terrible place, burst out of the exit into the fresh air—and find myself back in the house, cave, etc, with some kind of unidentifiable horror right behind me. I usually wake up in a cold sweat.

No doubt everyone has experienced the same dream at some point, likely throughout all their lives. I played Breath of Fire II nearly 14 years ago, but even then St Eva's trap was enough to give me the chills.

Then I smashed St Eva with the Kaiser Dragon transformation. That'll teach him for taking advantage of my psychological weaknesses.

Related Links:

Unsolicited Scares: Threed, Zombie Central
Unsolicited Scares: Terranigma and the Desert
The White Whale: Terranigma and Ahab Gaming

I Will Defeat You, Altered Beast

Nadia Oxford — Wed, 08 Apr 2009 04:04:00 GMT

It took a while for the Sega Genesis to peel kids' grimy fingers off their NES controllers. The NES had Castlevania, Mega Man, Ninja Gaiden and its pantheon of Mario games. The Genesis had, well, Altered Beast.

Every time I play Altered Beast, I use explicatives I never new existed in my inner dictionary. “F this game! F its mom! Grrr! No wonder nobody liked the Genesis until Sonic the Hedgehog!”

Kids, can you point out what's wrong with that previous paragraph? Hint: ”Every time I play Altered Beast...”

I can't even give you a count of how many years I've been trying to beat Sega's classic. My efforts have doubled since I acquired Sonic's Ultimate Genesis Collection for the Xbox 360, but no dice. Incidentally, I have beaten the arcade version, also included on the Genesis Collection—but that's with the aid of unlimited and accessible continues. On my honour, I will finish Altered Beast on the Genesis with no cheats. This will surely please God more than contributing food or hours of boring volunteer services to the needy.

Why do I keep going back for some Altered Beast punishment? The graphics are laughable, the music is tinny, and an auto-scrolling beat-em-up is pretty much the worst idea ever—but changing into anthromorphic beasts is just so cool, I can't stop doing it. A wolf, a dragon, a tiger, a bear...if Zeus ever woke me up from eternal rest to save his daughter, he'd better damn well give me the option of turning into Nature's pro wrestlers.

I also like the way the zombies explode into bloody chunks if you so much as tap them with your foot. Additionally, there is something gratifying about grabbing a power orb and hearing Zeus declare, “Power. Up.” as your guy's bulging muscles shred his, em, toga. He even stops fighting long enough to throw you a sultry look. Too bad 16-bit technology was so limited; the only sensible follow-up to that look is a dance number by some inflated pecs.

I will continue to do what I must in order to finish this game legitimately. I've already wisen from my gwave about a hundred times. What's a hundred more?

Related Links:

Alternate Soundtrack: Altered Beast vs Natalie Portman's Shaved Head
Confessions of the Young and Stupid: I Almost Bought a Genesis for Moonwalker
Ecco the Dolphin: Was This Game Ever Considered Fun?

Comfort Through Gaming: Accomplishing Anything in SimEarth

Nadia Oxford — Tue, 07 Apr 2009 03:06:00 GMT

A New Yorker article published in 2006 quoted Will Wright as being an advocate of the Montessori method of teaching. Wright argues that kids given sufficient materials and left to their own devices will educate themselves far more thoroughly than any structured program.

SimCity was apparently born from the legendary game designer's love for self-discovery:

”SimCity comes right out of Montessori—if you give people this model for building cities, they will abstract from it principles of urban design.”

Which is a valid point of view if you're a genius like Wright, but the average SimCity player is eventually just going to write “PENIS” with railroad tracks before giving up, Montessori education or no Montessori education.

I am very much an average Sim player. I did well enough with SimCity for the Super Nintendo and (gasp) Commodore 64. When I picked up SimEarth for the SNES (developed by FCI instead of Maxis), I expected the game to merely be a global re-imagining of SimCity, intuitive and easy to jump into. Instead, I was met with something almost completely different that required a bit more book learning than “Commercial zones do really well next to residential zones.” SimEarth is full of controls, dials, variables, and there is little graphic reward: you won't see massive cities bristle from the wilds as civilisation progresses, and full-scale nuclear war is disappointingly toothless. Yet, something about the SNES installment of the earth simulator is laid-back to the point of being almost therapeutic. I never developed my totalitarian Tyrannosaurus Rex empire because I largely had no idea what I was doing, but I was content to try over and over.

SimEarth actually encourages you to take your time and slap around Gaia to your liking. “Energy” replaces money as the means with which to build your ecosystem, but on the Easy setting, Energy is unlimited and you are free to experiment.

There's also less pressure to succeed, unless you tie yourself down with a scenario (want to terraform Venus? Be my guest). When a fire breaks out in SimCity, it's a disaster that needs to be dealt with ASAP. When a fire breaks out in SimEarth, it's the natural way of things—or a means to an end (more on that in a bit). The fire leaves a scar, but the Earth, if healthy, will heal itself with pretty trees. The people of Earth are also largely unaware of the player's existence. Though people curse God on a daily basis, you won't hear it in SimEarth. But if the people of SimCity hate you, you're going to hear it, Mr (or Ms) Mayor.

I also remain fond of SimEarth's music, particularly the gruff, thudding Geologic time scale piece. This is the music that starts you on your quest to evolve intelligent life. At this point in the game, Earth's surface is nothing but molten rock; Takane Okubo's composition almost carries a dare. “Hey jackass, evolve this!”

You take that challenge, and life evolves from the primordial soup. And the game's music brightens. “Yatta! Let us work towards prosperity!”

There are several videos on YouTube of players attempting the game's scenarios. These are pretty basic: cool off a desert planet until it can sustain mammal life, nurture humanity until it can fly to the moon and become some other race's problem, etc. The very last scenario is the most interesting one: robots have taken over the world Terminator-style, and you must purge them and re-instate biological life.

How do you get rid of a metallic empire? You melt it down to scrap.

Yay! You are good at being God!

Except those filthy robots.

Related Links:

Comfort Through Gaming: Super Metroid's Dark Tunnels
Breaking Out Of Your Gaming Comfort Zone
Watcha Playing: The Palette Cleanser

Licensing Tragedies: The Donkey Kong Country Cartoon

Nadia Oxford — Mon, 16 Mar 2009 23:39:00 GMT

Nine out of ten platformer fans with two working eyes agree that the computer-rendered sprites used in Donkey Kong Country were a bit more impressive fourteen years ago. Even so, Donkey Kong Country's visuals still succeed in its portrayal of certain key environments: lush (if flat) jungle foliage, colourful coral, atmospheric snowstorms, and rich orange-and-red sunsets. Additionally, the series' characters were likable until Donkey Kong 64 dragged each simian into monkey hell.

The Kong clan may have been slain by the DK Rap, but I maintain that 1996's French Canadian Donkey Kong Country cartoon helped engineer the gallows. The two disasters are not necessarily connected, except by name, but both can be accused of bland presentation and a noticeable lack of humour and fun.

I will admit that I am criticising a pile of alphabet blocks, here: the Donkey Kong Country cartoon was meant for very young audiences, and it was the family-oriented showpiece for the launch of Teletoon, Canada's animation channel. It was no surprise Nelvana saw fit to give Donkey Kong a vocabulary beyond “Ook ook grunt,” and a story beyond “Beat up reptiles for bananas.” Even so, the crew rarely did anything except thwart King K Rool's attempts to grab Donkey's, uh, “Crystal Coconut” episode after episode. Also, there was a prophecy about Donkey Kong ruling the island or something. Hooray, life under a gorilla regime.

The animation was kind of bad. Again, Donkey Kong Country didn't age well visually, but at least the level settings sometimes went far beyond the jungle. Donkey Kong Country 2 got particularly awesome with its beehives, amusement parks, and bramble mazes.

The cartoon also had musical interludes. Oh boy, did it love its musical interludes. I hate and fear singing animals, but even I have to give a nod to some of Donkey Kong Country's songs. Here is an alligator pirate with breasts singing about treasure. He is A-OK.

Surprisingly, this show had a pretty big following in Japan. It's kind of hilarious to imagine, because it was released around the time North American anime fans were especially obnoxious about the superiority of Japanese animation versus North America's commercial slop.

Related Links:

Licensing Tragedies Malibu's Street Fighter Comic
The Capcom Cartoon Crossover You Never Knew About
Mega Man is a Dick

Behold The Half-Assed Review That Steered Me Away From Earthbound

Nadia Oxford — Tue, 10 Mar 2009 03:31:00 GMT

Gather around, ladies and gentlemen. It's time to share my secret shame. Come for the story, stay for the punch, the pie, and a chance to wallow in the lingering stink of failure.

When I was young enough to believe in honesty, I relied on game magazine reviews to tell me whether or not a game was worth a purchase. I've already gone over how many Great Canadian Funbux typically went into the purchase of one cartridge game, so you can probably forgive me for doing my research.

Unfortunately, I kind of put myself at a disadvantage by taking to heart the opinions of only one magazine: Gamepro. To be fair, I have to admit that I wasn't steered wrong too often. If not for the rave review I read in the November 1994 issue of the magazine, I would have bypassed the majesty of Final Fantasy VI.

But it was my faith in Gamepro that made me turn up my nose at Earthbound until just last year. While bypassing Earthbound because of a magazine review was a big mistake on my part, it wasn't like I'd boiled a puppy or cast an unforgivable curse on a baby. Earthbound's genius was snubbed by a lot of SNES owners; that's why the fandom has since been driven half-mad with regret.

No, my problem is that Earthbound Central has scanned and archived the review that kept me away from Itoi's masterpiece...and I can't believe that I was swayed by such an impotent clump of...assumptions.

The review appeared in Gamepro's July 1995 issue. I think by then, editors and readers alike were starting to look over their shoulders at previews for the N64, Saturn and Playstation. 16-bit RPGs like Earthbound got a quick glance before everyone ran off the other way, like Milhouse writing “MILPOOL” on Bart's cast before diving into the family's swimming pool. I can't fault an editor for being distracted by a new era shining on the horizon, but this 300-word bluff might have held up better with plausible criticisms instead of, “All the main characters look the same, except for differently-colored hair.” If I were Paula, I'd be pissed.

Also hilarious: "Lack of a convincing storyline," "Unintentionally hilarious humor," "Psychic Dog" (who's with you for the whole game, apparently), "Threet," "Big Footprint," and "This one is bound to fall to Earth soon." God knows I've been stuck for closing lines in reviews, etc, but I'm not sure what that means.

My favourite flub in the review: The “Beginner” brand in the score bar. Ha ha! No.

At least the Protips were as fresh and useful as ever. “Because you have such a limited amount of space in your backpack, eat everything you can to pump up your life bar.”

(“Then sit on Giygas.”)

Related Links:

Abandon All Hope: No Earthbound for the Virtual Console
The Mother 3 Translation: We're Not Worthy!
Earthbound's Secret Evil

Comfort Through Gaming: Super Metroid's Dark Tunnels

Nadia Oxford — Wed, 04 Mar 2009 21:12:00 GMT

I've been fighting a mutant cold all week, which means I just don't have the energy to tackle my shiny pile of virgin games. Yes, I am an example of humanity at its laziest and most spoiled. Any further down the ladder and I'll be a quivering puddle of goo that manipulates game controllers with an oozing pseudopod.

Surely you can relate, though. Mr Cole Stryker recently spoke of “relaxing games;” in the same vein, I have my stash of “comfort games.” Digital chicken soup. Something to turn to when I'm just not up to slogging through a ten-hour tutorial.

Games that don't make me work. Or even games with one special trait that brings me inner peace.

One such game is Super Metroid, fresh-picked from the Virtual Console. Super Metroid hovers near the top of everyone's list of favourite action games, and I'm no exception. But for me, the title really shines (somehow ironically, I suppose) because of its dark atmosphere.

Taken on their own, Super Metroid's backgrounds aren't very impressive. Combined with the moody music and the game's setting (deeper and deeper underground until Samus touches Norfair's molten core), they do a brilliant job. Though I really enjoyed Metroid Zero Mission and Metroid ~~Talking~~ Fusion, the detailed, colourful backgrounds in those games stood out like exclamations in the sombre simplicity of a temple. I don't want to be shouted at when I'm sick. I want to swaddle myself in thick, warming shades of dark purple and red.

I suppose simplicity just suits Samus well.

Related Links:

Metroid Prime Trilogy Retrospective: Part One
Rebuttal Rebuttal: I Stand With Metroid
Metroid: Wishful Thinking

Chrono Trigger's Box Art Still Makes My Head Buzz

Nadia Oxford — Sat, 21 Feb 2009 03:07:00 GMT

I've never been a big fan of Chrono Trigger's box art. I love the game to pieces. I love its story, its music and its character designs. “Akira Toriyama” will be the last words to burst from my mouth in a bubble of blood when Mouseketeer revolutionaries, seeking to empower western animation, unsuccessfully try to force me to renounce my love for the manga-ka.

But I just don't dig on Chrono Trigger's cover illustration. It certainly doesn't rank anywhere in Mega Man's Hall of Box Art Horrors, but it's too busy, there's an inflated sense of intensity, and it was a jarring change from the quiet RPG labels I was used to in the 16-bit era. The boxes for Final Fantasy II and Final Fantasy III on the SNES weren't as stylish as their Super Famicom counterparts, but they were recognisable. The “T” styled as a sword in the American Final FantTasy logo, though not especially creative, was iconic. Square RPGs outside of Final Fantasy still featured calm box art that carried a hint of mystery about the contents within. Secret of Mana, for instance.

Chrono Trigger's box art, on the other hand, is bold and loud. Though it's obviously a finished piece of work, it feels like a piece of concept art that was randomly selected to represent the entire game. I look at it and I'm helpless to stop my mind from wandering into Geekville.

I start thinking, “Why is Heckran on Death Peak? Why is Crono alive on Death Peak? Wait, maybe that's 12,000,000 BC? Those winter clothes are actually kind of badass, but we never see anything like them. Why would Frog even bother to look for a contact lens that's buried in two feet of snow?” (I know, I know, it's the Arc Impulse Triple Tech—for which Marle is incorrectly casting a Fire spell).

Thirteen years later, my thoughts still stumble all over one another crying “But--but--but--!”, when I see the cover for Chrono Trigger. It makes the inside of my head feel like a car crash.

Everyone on the box also looks uncharacteristically snarly. I wouldn't laugh off a threat from a giant thorn-lizard that will only succumb to magic spells (*%&$&#!!!!!), but poor gentle Crono comes off as a spiky-haired Rambo. It just ain't right.

Related Links:

The Weakest Link: Chrono Trigger and Chrono Cross
The End of Time and the Beginning of Fan Drama
WTFriday: The Chrono Trigger Anime

Unsolicited Scares: Threed, Zombie Central

Nadia Oxford — Thu, 19 Feb 2009 22:26:00 GMT

All this talk about Earthbound and related disappointments made me hungry for a Skip Sandwich DX. I ate the sandwich with a mayo packet and began remembering what parts of Earthbound I liked best.

Earthbound is an unsettling game for a number of reasons. First, the party consists entirely of kids, and even though kids have a deserved reputation for never shutting up, Ness and his pals are quiet, stoic and very much focused on the task at hand. Second, the threat they're up against is ethereal, but Giygas' influence on the grown-up world is unmistakable: adults' greed is amplified, corruption amongst authorities is rampant, and there's that one town with the whole cult thing going on.

The third and possibly most potent reason for Earthbound's dark humour is its masterful blending of innocent colour and mood-setting music. If something bad is going down in a scenario, the sound will tell you before the visuals do. Any game that starts you off investigating an unidentified falling object in the dead of night with disjointed alien percussion as background music is a game that's not going to deliver warm fuzzies if it doesn't bloody well feel like it.

Obviously, Earthbound isn't meant to make your heart stop at any one moment—final battle excluded, maybe—but I've come to think of the party's visit to the town of Threed as Resident Evil Crayola.. Zombies and ghosts have taken over the city, but they're pretty goofy looking critters (less so with Handsome Tom and Smilin' Sam; sorry, I hate puppets). Even so, the darkness surrounding the town is oppressive, and the background music hardly indicates that Ness and Paula are attending a kids' Halloween party.

What's more, it quickly becomes apparent that the citizens are fighting a losing battle. Everyone who's left is slowly being herded into the centre of town; the outskirts are crawling with the undead. They're closing in, slithering around the broken-down circus paraphernalia litters the town's greenery. The “haunted circus” angle is an oldie, but it's definitely a goodie. As was stated earlier, Earthbound is all about mixing innocence with corruption—but whereas most games and movies make sure said innocent themes are trampled into the ground by the adult world's stinking grown-up realities, Earthbound lets innocence triumph. After all, it's shy and quiet Jeff who saves Paula and Ness in their greatest time of need.

Until that moment, though, Threed belongs to the dead.

Related Links:

Unsolicited Scares: Terranigma and the Desert
Abandon All Hope: No Earthbound for the Virtual Console
Earthbound in 3D

Sonic's Secret Past

Bob Mackey — Wed, 18 Feb 2009 22:15:00 GMT

The ins and outs of Sonic the Hedgehog continuity have mostly been a mystery to all but the most insane fans of the franchise, mainly because Sonic's story really hasn't been all that consistent over time. We've gone from a little blue dude running on checkerboard-patterned dirt to emo inter-species love stories without any explanation as to just how this drastic change makes any sense whatsoever; and let's not forget about the multiple cartoon series and Archie Comics that make pinning down one true story of Sonic nigh impossible.

But from the character's very inception, he did have his own "bible," which is essentially a guide to ensure that the Sonic characters, as well as the setting they exist in, remain consistent regardless of who's handling the property. Over time, the mishandlers of the Sonic franchise have veered very, very far away from what the universe is supposed to be; but, thanks to some leaked documents from a NEOGaf user aptly named TheSonicRetard, confused gamers worldwide can catch a glimpse of Sega's intentions for Sonic from day one.

From the NeoGAF thread itself, here's TheSonicRetard's explaination of just what these newly-discovered documents contain:

So Dean Sitton (The guy who came up with the name Dr. Robotnik, level designer for Chakan the Forever man, the dude from the kid chameleon box art) comes through again. As a former SOA employee, he was given a "Sonic the Hedgehog" bible to help localize the game with. This is never-before-seen stuff recently released out of the kindness of his heart. What these are, are guides sega put out intending to be the absolute source on sonic the hedgehog so there would be hegemony in marketting. Every franchise goes through stuff like this, but it's rare that they get leaked to the public.

The most entertaining of all these documents has to be the rough draft of the story, where Sonic spends most of his life as a poor-but-proud Nebraskan named Sonny who spends a good deal of his time pranking bowling alley patrons. There's still a tiny chance that this could all be a hoax, but it's damned hilarious reading in the meantime. Thanks to the Retronauts Twitter for the tip.

Related Links:

On Sega and the Proper Use of the Wii in 2009
Sonic Unleashed is Filled With Lies
The Untold Story of Sega Killing Their Own Hardware Business

Unsolicited Scares: Terranigma and the Desert

Nadia Oxford — Fri, 13 Feb 2009 00:27:00 GMT

When we talk about games that made us scream like grandmothers treed on a kitchen chair by mice, we default to the obvious. “Ohhh, Resident Evil 4 made me poop myself in fear,” one contributor gasps. “That's nothing,” another counters. “Silent Hill made my poop poop itself in fear!”

And so on.

It's only natural that we think about the survival horror genre during these conferences of memory. But I've been thinking lately about games that gave me the chills when I certainly didn't expect them to. I won't say I have the hardiest soul around, but even JRPGs and Super Mario games have some genuinely creepy moments that can blindside you. Not necessarily the whole game (unlike Resident Evil or Silent Hill), but maybe a specific scenario that comes back to haunt me when I wake up from a nightmare and fail to conjure something soothing to help me sleep again.

First example: The “Desert” music from Terranigma.

Terranigma was Enix's follow-up to Illusion of Gaia for the Super Nintendo. It's best known for never showing its face in America despite demand. It's known almost as well for its haunting soundtrack.

“Desert” is a sound clip that tends to visit my memory when I'm alone in some dark place, usually when my imagination is already engorged with fear. The clip doesn't have to be taken in context for its haunting whine to skittle down your neck and back, but it helps a bit.

Terranigma's protagonist, Ark, is the video game equivalent of what Adam would be if Adam's reaction to getting kicked out of the Garden of Eden had been, “Well, okay.” Ark is evicted from his village after eating the metaphorical forbidden fruit—or opening the literal Pandora's Box, if you like—and he's charged with reviving the dead Earth that he had no idea existed outside his little hamlet. When “Desert” first plays, Ark is preparing to leave everything behind for the unknown. That, to me, is what the piece reflects so well: an uncertain future. Though the unknown is a more subtle scare than omg zombies blaaargh, it is by far mankind's greatest fear.

“Desert” hits me even more strongly thanks to personal context. I played Terranigma around the time 9/11 struck, and to a degree, I associate the track with the days of unease that followed the attack. Nobody in the world knew what, precisely, was going to happen next. A World War? Another attack? Indeed, the unknown is frightening.

Related Links:

Time For Terranigma
Question of the Day: Why Can't I Emulate?
Question of the Day: How Do You Make a Horror Game Horrifying?

Confessions of the Young and Stupid: I Almost Bought a Genesis For Moonwalker

Nadia Oxford — Sat, 10 Jan 2009 03:17:00 GMT

When the Sega Genesis came on the scene, there were specific game advertisements or previews that made kids look at their 8-bit Nintendo with new doubt. Some children started paying attention to the Genesis when Altered Beast wose from its gwave. Others started pulling on their mom's arm for Sonic the Hedgehog.

The first game that gave me “console envy” was Michael Jackson's Moonwalker.

If you're nodding with me right now, you're around my age and you understand me. If you're snickering, you're a young punk and gerroff my lawn.

When I was a kid, the name “Michael Jackson” made kids' eyes light up. Promises of special trips to Neverland Ranch and all the candy we could eat weren't necessary; Michael was just that cool. Everyone wanted to be Michael. He could dance, he could perform and damn it all, he put together Thriller.

Moonwalker was cool, too. At the time, it made perfect sense to me that Michael's demigod essence could not be contained by the dinky Nintendo; no, it would take nothing less than a 16-bit temple. The in-game playlist was enough to stop a kid's heart: Bad, Billie Jean and Thriller to name a few (though we did get stiffed pretty bad Thriller-wise, since the music didn't show up where you'd expect it to—hello, graveyard? Zombies?).

But once you stripped (!!!) the suave suit and hat from Moonwalker, it wasn't much beyond a mediocre platformer with a big name and Bubbles face-sitting action. The music was ambitious and it carried that delightful digital “twang” exclusive to the Genesis sound chip, but kids who traded in Super Mario 3 to finance Moonwalker felt the loss.

Especially when certain events moonwalked into the spotlight. Heck, by that point, owning the game probably felt gross, like being in possession of questionable anime hentai bordering on child pornography.

The Angry Video Game Nerd took an extensive look at Moonwalker this week. At the very least, you can behold Super Warrior Robot Michael in his Holy laser-shooting crusade against child kidnappers. Go Go! Mecha Michael! For Save The Children!!

Related Links:

Warner Music Wants More Royalties
Music Game Shark Jumpin': Activision Possibly Too Legit to Quit, Working With MC Hammer
Whatcha Listening To: The Earthbound Soundtrack

Crono: My First Aeris Gainsborough

Nadia Oxford — Thu, 08 Jan 2009 05:01:00 GMT

You remember Aeris' death in Final Fantasy VII, right? Sephiroth dropped from the sky, brandishing his very big sword, and he spit Aeris like a piece of sacrificial lamb on a shishkabob. Cloud broke out the pitas, Cid stirred up the hummus and—no, wait, that didn't happen. Aeris died in Cloud's arms and it was very sad. There, that's what happened.

Aeris's death, though curiously dry (not a drop of blood was spilled—what kind of impotent Jesus stand-in was she?), was a stunning event for the gaming world. Until the moment Sephiroth fell on her as neatly as a dart flying to a pub's board, it seemed unfathomable that a game character could die. Forever. No take-backs.

Unfathomable for some. Not so much for others.

I'd been there a couple years prior. Crono from Chrono Trigger was my first Aeris.

“But you can bring Crono back to life! His death's wasn't traumatic, you big attention whore!”

But reviving Crono isn't as easy as sprinkling him with phoenix down. It's actually an emotional investment, and when I played Chrono Trigger on the DS, I was surprised at how powerfully it still hit me.

Aeris got a sword through her gut, and admittedly that's a pretty bad way to go. But at least her body was laid to rest. Crono, on the other hand, throws himself at the deadly light Lavos generates and his body simply...dissolves. One second he's a boy on a quest; the next falls apart in a smear, like a stick of charcoal left in the rain.

After the party bumbles around lost for a while, they're given the opportunity to climb Death Peak and revive Crono using a special item that's also the game's namesake. Death Peak is a pretty unique locale, as far as Chrono Trigger goes. The snow-covered mountain lords over the far-flung future, but it has a sinisterly ancient feel to it; it was thrown up when Lavos erupted from the ground in 1999. Journeying through the future usually means visiting factories and crumbling ruins, but Death Peak feels like it's encased in a bubble that's separate from the rest of time.

It's on Death Peak we get an unsettling glimpse of his Lavos' spawn, a quiet prophesy of what's to come. A perpetual, gentle snowfall makes the mountain eerily peaceful. And at the top of the mountain...well, that's a special experience.

The teamwork Crono's friends use to bring him back to life strengthens their bonds and speaks of their characters. Crono's death would also have been an easy opportunity to give “depth” to the cast through mourning: “A-bloo-bloo-bloo, our hero is gone, Zeal will pay,” and whatnot.

When Crono first dies, Marle is confident he's alive. It's a little saddening to see her so adamant about an impossibility, but her resolve makes it hard to resist the Crono-Jesus sub-quest. You are part of the experience, not just an outsider viewing a cutscene.

Related Links:

The Weakest Link: Chrono Trigger and Chrono Cross
WTFriday: The Chrono Trigger Anime
China Trigger

Picking Chrono Trigger Clean

Nadia Oxford — Sat, 06 Dec 2008 01:00:00 GMT

Mackey just reminded me of something. Well, Mackey reminds me of a lot of things, primarily of when I was a sexy leopardess who drove across Canada, solving cold murder cases. Let's keep this in the context of games, though. Mackey's post reminded me of a different age of gaming, when we used to pull apart games like so much shredded pork in hopes of squeezing just ten more minutes of gameplay from the battered cartridge.

Oh, to find one more secret. Oh, to tie up that loose end.

The Internet in 1995 was polluted with gaming "secrets" like the exact rain dance you needed to perform in order to resurrect General Leo in Final Fantasy VI. And Schala could be revived in Chrono Trigger, of course. All you had to do was the hokey pokey while waving a chicken over your head.

I performed a lot of these crazy rituals. I was desperate to find Schala. I thought the key lay in the Last Village--more specifically, in Janus' chatty purple cat, Alfador. I thought Alfador could lead me to the answers. He didn't, and I was very sad.

Why were we so desperate to make these connections back then? Granted, the race to find Schala in Chrono Trigger could partially be blamed on a mistranslated line that made it seem as if she was alive and suffering in the bowels of the Mammon Machine. Which, in turn, lay in the bowels of the ocean (I'll grab any excuse to write the word 'bowels').

Even so, it should have quickly become obvious that Schala would not re-appear until Chrono Cross. What else drove us to do crazy in-game shit?

I think part of our insanity could be credited to the infrequent release of Square's games back then. Chrono Trigger and Final Fantasy VI were, for many of us, early instances of quality storytelling in games. For some reason, we could accept loopholes and unanswered questions in books, but we refused to accept as much in video games until we licked every last pixel for clues.

Price may have been a factor as well. I remember dishing out near a hundred bucks each for Final Fantasy VI and Chrono Trigger. I needed to get everything out of them, partially because a quality RPG experience was such a rarity in those days and partially because I refused to believe a that a hundred dollar game like Chrono Trigger would dare leave such an important plot point unresolved.

Well, now it looks as if Chrono Trigger DS has tied up that loose end. Now all that remains is to go back in time and tell my fifteen year-old-self to chill out.

Related Links:

The Best Chrono Trigger Ending
The Weakest Link: Chrono Trigger and Chrono Cross
WTFriday: The Chrono Trigger Anime

Looks Great, Tastes Bad: The '90s and its Crop of Unbalanced Games

Nadia Oxford — Wed, 29 Oct 2008 20:16:00 GMT

"Earthworm Jim is on the Virtual Console today!" exclaims a message board thread somewhere in Gamer Town. In seconds, nostalgia draws traffic to the post like a purring queen draws kittens to the teat. "Oh, this game was so awesome," a poster named Billy declares. "They don't make games like this anymore."

That's right, little Billy. They don't. I'm sort of glad about that because I don't think my heart can endure mass doses of disappointment anymore.

Though Japanese games ruled the sixteen bit era, American developers were finding their legs as well. And oh, what a pair of legs they found. Games like Aladdin on the Genesis, The Lion King and Earthworm Jim looked and sounded brilliant. They are, in my opinion, still some of the best-looking games out there in spite of running on 24 megs of memory as opposed to today's standard of a hojillion gigabytes. I still love watching people play Earthworm Jim because the title has so much love and personality in every frame of animation.

There's the rub: I like to watch (tee hee). I don't actually like to play Earthworm Jim--or Aladdin--or The Lion King--because the games are consistently and unfairly difficult, sometimes for the most baffling reasons. When Earthworm Jim fires his standard weapon, you can't see the spray of bullets. Even the lowliest of crows will dodge your invisible fire half the time despite being directly above you, but there's no possible way to correct your aim because you can't see where you're aiming.

Mackey already mentioned Earthworm Jim's watery damnation: an underwater level wherein Jim must pilot a bathysphere-type vehicle that's obviously made of sugar glass. A few hits against the jagged rocks (and there are jagged rocks to spare) means death and a start-over.

Jim's antics and the flailing of his enemies gets old when you have to endure them over and over.

Busting out the level codes revealed disappointment: later levels required precise feats of jumping and shooting that proved incredibly difficult with the game's floaty, ever-so-slightly inaccurate controls. What do you get when you combine great graphics and frustrating levels? Negative fun every time, no matter how good a game looks.

This sort of equation popped up a lot in the '90s, so I endured a lot of guilt in those dark days of pop music and bright, radical clothes. I wanted to like these animated games, and when I played I said "Gee golly jeepers!" out loud a lot to make it look like I was having fun like the rest of the gaming world. But my treacherous heart whispered to me, "Isn't this game punishing you for its mistakes? You know you're not having a much fun, right?"

If mere games troubled me this much as a young teen, it's probably a good thing I never had to struggle with my sexual orientation.

Related Links:

Remembering Earthworm Jim
Screw Attack Remembers The Lion King: I Remember A 16-Bit Jungle Hell
Shiny Entertainment Promo Video Is Distilled '90s

The Videogame Ages, part 2

John Constantine — Mon, 27 Oct 2008 22:00:00 GMT

In part one of The Videogame Ages, I discussed the inadequacy of “generation” language in gaming, and laid out The Golden Age of gaming. In part two, I look at the Silver and Bronze ages before taking a look at the modern era and the future.

The Silver Age – 1983 to 1996
8-Bit, 16-Bit, Early Handheld, Early 3D, Advanced PC and Arcade

The silver age of games is defined by expansion, in not just playability but breadth of experience. When home computers became affordable and home consoles began diversifying, games started transforming from immediate, single-mechanic experiences into more lasting forms. Silver age games were still about escalating challenge, but high scores ceased being the goal, replaced by definitive endings. Games started becoming more explicitly narrative-driven, as aesthetic justification on consoles and as the focus of many PC games (see the entire adventure game genre.) Portable gaming also started to rise to prominence during this period, early single-screen LCD games replaced by multi-game consoles like the Game Boy and Atari Lynx. Arcade and PC game technology pulled far away from home consoles, but all games were shifted from the rough visual abstraction of golden age games, into more aesthetically recognizable presentations – albeit still cartoonish impressionistic rather than realistic. The rise of polygonal 3D graphics, both real-time full 3D (Yu Suzuki’s Virtua series) and pre-rendered (Myst, etc.), at the end of the silver age marks the transition to bronze. In 1996, with the release of Mario 64, Tomb Raider, and Quake, the silver age comes to a close.

The Bronze Age – 1996 to 2006 (maybe)
32-bit, 64-bit, 128-bit, Death of Arcades, PC Equalization

While golden age games’ boundary was a single screen and silver age games were largely confined to movement from left to right or down to up, the bronze age is the birth of 3D space as gaming’s chief concern. This isn’t to say that games that take a place on a 2D plain ceased being important or a valid medium for experimentation (though they certainly became marginalized on consoles, PCs, and in arcades.) But creating spaces with depth similar to the physical world took center stage in design. This push toward realistic spaces is mirrored in game aesthetics. Nearly all the technological benchmarks of the bronze age have come from creating as lifelike a facsimile of real life as can be achieved on any technology. PC games typically set that high water mark, though by the end of 2006, home consoles had largely caught up to PCs, much as they did with arcade games during the first few years of the 20th century (arcades are close to extinct now.) Game narrative started heavily borrowing from film’s storytelling language, relying on scripted scenes voiced and acted by digital characters in an attempt to tell deeper stories, but games also started developing there own unique storytelling language during this period, some games allowing the player to always be immersed in drama through play (see: Half-Life.) Multiplayer games no longer required physical proximity with the rise of online play on both PCs and consoles, and portable gaming started offering richer, longer play experiences, akin to those found on consoles.

I’m not totally convinced that the bronze age has ended yet, but the telltale signs of gaming’s latest age-defining shift have been popping up with some frequency over the last few years. The argument can be made that the Heroic Age of gaming is one of community via online networks and MMOs, user-generated content (see: Spore, LittleBigPlanet, Halo 3, Boom Blox, etc.), and experiential gaming. Experiential gaming is a big one whose mettle has yet to be tested, whether or not broad physical activity, from waving a Wiimote to playing fake musical instruments, will catch on. It’s certainly a dramatic shift to see experiential gaming leave its one-time home, the arcade, and transform into a driving force of home gaming. Then again, who knows? Maybe the golden age of gaming has only just ended, and its now, when players can finally build games themselves inside of other games, that the silver age has begun. Let me know, dear reader.

Part 1

Related links:
Comparison of Wiki Articles Proves Geeks Inherited The Earth
MMO Predicts Life in 10 Years
Men Are From Hyrule, Women Are From Simville: If Gender Defines the Games We Play, Why Does Everyone Play By the Same Rules?
9/9/99 9 Years Later
Fix It: Alone in the Dark, Tiger Woods, and the Death of the Glitch
Everyone Will be Able to Rock

The Videogame Ages, part 1

John Constantine — Mon, 27 Oct 2008 21:30:00 GMT

This past Friday, I tried to slip a little piece of language into a discussion about game emulation that I was wary about using at all. At this point, the go-to boundaries for discussing videogames’ admittedly small history is console-technology generations. We say 8-Bit or 16-Bit because these are easy identifiers based on competing, contemporary technologies. But the language “The 8-Bit Generation” doesn’t account for arcade technology, PC games, or portable gaming. Now that Bob Dvorak’s Tennis for Two is officially fifty years-old, I think we can finally start applying broader terms to gaming’s evolutionary eras. Obviously history is fluid, and chances are these classifications won’t hold true in 2050, but for now they work. The Hesiodic ages, as laid out here, consider games on every platform; the rigid parameters of home consoles, the advanced nature of PC and Mac gaming throughout the 1980s and ‘90s, the fast strides made by arcade technology throughout that same period, and the predominantly inferior technology available in handheld gaming. Unlike Hesiod’s Ages of Man, however, the videogame ages are (mostly) a positive progression. Please note: these are not strict definitions. This is a discussion, and I want everyone to make their opinions heard in the comments section. Now then, onward to the Golden Age.

The Golden Age – 1958 to 1983
Dvorak, MIT, Early Arcade, Early Home Console

The golden age of gaming began in 1958 and was, for almost a decade and a half, almost exclusively concerned with tennis. It took Nolan Bushnell getting clever for us to start calling it Pong. Tennis for Two, Magnavox’s Odyssey, and Bushnell’s advice to “avoid missing ball for high score” was pretty much the only game in town until the mid-70s with some notable exceptions. The second videogame ever made has a more recognizable legacy in today’s games. Steve Russell’s Spacewar!, started in 1961 as a side-project of the Tech Model Railroad Club at MIT (history’s first hackers, dontchaknow,) shares the two-player, two-object dynamics of Pong but the gameplay focused on actually destroying your opponent in a science-fiction setting. These games set the standard for the golden age: individual play mechanics presented on single screens. By the late-70s and early-80s, as Atari and other early consoles that could play multiple games were becoming common, games started expanding in both scope and ambition. Adventure, Pitfall, and others introduced continuity in their worlds, while Pac-man and Donkey Kong made the first stabs at introducing narrative. On the technology end, 1980 saw scrolling action in Defender and the larval form of 3D play, vector graphics, in Battlezone. The game industry crash and the release of the Famicom in 1983 mark the end of this period.

Part 2

Related links:
Comparison of Wiki Articles Proves Geeks Inherited The Earth
MMO Predicts Life in 10 Years
Men Are From Hyrule, Women Are From Simville: If Gender Defines the Games We Play, Why Does Everyone Play By the Same Rules?
9/9/99 9 Years Later
Fix It: Alone in the Dark, Tiger Woods, and the Death of the Glitch
Everyone Will be Able to Rock

Time For Terranigma! Right?

Nadia Oxford — Tue, 14 Oct 2008 22:54:00 GMT

Friends, join me in a round of "Let's Push Our Effin' Luck." The Virtual Console has done such a good job at not sucking for the past few weeks that it's only natural for me to raise my hopes and watch them get sheared.

So, Nintendo. Square-Enix. Everyone. Time to stop starting and stopping like a nervous thoroughbred. It's time for commitment. It's time for Terranigma.

When you were young, you probably played Soulblazer and/or Illusion of Gaia on the Super Nintendo. Both games provided Zelda-flavoured adventures that were nevertheless unique. Illusion of Gaia in particular still stands out in my mind for its mild hero, Will, a boy with telepathic powers who must jump-start Earth's stagnant evolution. Terranigma actually preceds Will's journey and Soulblazer story-wise, casting the player as Ark. Ark is cast out of his Eden-like villiage and tasked with beginning the very evolution that Will is later called upon to re-direct.

Terranigma plays similarly to Illusion of Gaia, but it might seem unfamiliar because it never made it to North America. It did, however, see a release in Europe. So there's the beauty part: Terranigma already has an English translation waiting patiently for us.

Why do you want to play Terranigma? Because it's expansive, gorgeous and has a soundtrack that rivals greats like Chrono Trigger and Final Fantasy VI. Also, I'm holding your mom hostage so you might want to work something out with Square-Enix. Just kidding. Really though, listen to The Underworld theme and tell me it's not beautiful. Choose your words carefully; I am holding a big stick (not kidding this time).

Terranigma also has a pretty epic story going on, but seeing as how you're cast as God Junior, that's to be expected. One aspect I enjoy about Illusion of Gaia is the subtle storytelling, which Terranigma continues. As world shapes around you, nobody screams "Holy crap, it's the Great Lakes!" Except you, of course.

Come on, Nintendo. Square-Enix. Do it. I'll be your friend.

Related Links:

Virtual Console: Now The Best Thing Ever
Reminder: Shining Force is Awesome
Flying Gay Men Invade Virtual Console

Screw Attack Remembers The Lion King; I Remember a 16-Bit Jungle Hell

Nadia Oxford — Tue, 07 Oct 2008 21:35:00 GMT

Screw Attack's Video Game Vault peeks back at the games we enjoyed as cubs. Most of the commentary on their video game recollections doesn't go beyond "This game was AWESOME!" or "This game sucked!" It's hard to fault them for it, since we all have a tendency to do the very same.

Their latest retrospective, which looks at the Lion King game for the Sega Genesis and Super Nintendo, is another "omg this game was rad in ever-y way!!" moment. Maybe they're thinking of another game in a parallel dimension or something because I remember a gamethat was exceptionally well done in some areas and finger-breakingly frustrating in others.

For starters, I have a shaky history with The Lion King. I know chunks of the movie are lifted from Osamu Tezuka's Kimba the White Lion (The Simpsons acknowledges the very same in the episode "'Round Springfield," with the famous ghost-delivered line, "You must avenge my death, Kimba--dah, I mean, Simba.") and that Disney's subsequent denial of Osamu Tezuka's existance is the worst thing the company has ever done outside of Walt gassing Jewish children in Space Mountain (disclaimer: Walt probably never gassed children).

Still, I love The Lion King. It ranks as my favourite Disney movie. It looks gorgeous, the soundtrack is stunning and there are some valuable lessons about acting your goddamn age. On that note, I'm willing to bet the game wasn't really for me since I was a teen plus when I attempted it. Years later I'm left wondering exactly who the game was for, since it was an extremely frustrating side-scroller. Beautiful, yes. The graphics were done in the fluid cartoon style first perfected by Aladdin for the Genesis. The game also sounded fantastic with songs straight out of the movie, though the Super Nintendo version sounded far richer thanks in part to crammed-in voice samples.

But was the game fun? Not so much. It begins with little Simba romping around Pride Rock, mewing at hedgehogs and lizards, pouncing on power-ups. The first level serves as a disarming tutorial for the rest of the game, which, although integrated with the movie extremely well, is frustrating. The monkey puzzles in the second level come to mind specifically. When Simba sang about how "he just can't wait to be king" in the movie, his elephant and giraffe subjects didn't try to actively kill him. The game is another story, as they take every opportunity to commit regicide by throwing Simba down pits.

When you think about it though, why would zebras and antelope have a reason to romp with a "king" who stands to grow up and stomach them?

Related Links:

Darkwing Duck: Capcom's Secret Mega Man
OST: Ducktales
Capcom to Date: By The Numbers

The E.V.O.lution of Spore

Nadia Oxford — Thu, 18 Sep 2008 21:22:00 GMT

Yahtzee recently mouthed off in his charming British way about Will Wright's Spore. Does he like it much? Short answer: "Nooooooooooooooo..."

I haven't played Spore. My computer is from the Stone Age (2002) and completely useless for gaming. It's especially useless right now because it's been infected with the digital equivalent of late-stage syphilis and I do believe it's going quite mad.

As for Spore, I might pick up the Wii version once it receives all the necessary castrations. But I have to admit that Yahtzee's weekly snark-a-thon woke up an otherwise oblivious bit of my brain that's telling me, "Hey...you played Spore. On the Super Nintendo. It was called EVO."

Now kids, don't you all yell at Granma Nadia like that. I know Spore is far more complex than the 16-bit prehistoric gorgefest that captured my heart when I was fourteen-ish. But the idea of eating and growing appendages as a result of eating (wouldn't that make the obesity crisis a lot more interesting) took me back to a happy place. When we were kids, we wanted to genetically engineer nail-studded dragons with teeth like Ginsu knives and scales like tank armour. Oh, and they had to be able to fly, of course. Completely impossible by Nature's hoity-toity standards, but typical of the animals that rattle around in a kid's imagination. When Enix made EVO, it remembered the pencil crayon drawings that adorn every boy's school binder.

(And my own. We'll just say that my parents learned very quickly that I wasn't into Barbie.)

EVO isn't just about aimless evolution, though. There's a story going on, though it sort of runs with Nature's favourite plotline, "Eat or be Eaten." You begin life as a floating fishie thing, crawl on land as an amphibian, reign over the planet as a hulking dinosaur and settle into manhood as the Ice Age steals across the land. Granted, you don't have to make dramatic changes to your body for significant chunks of the game. For example, when the Ice Age turns the Earth into an icebox, you are welcome to continue roaring, "FUCK YOU, I'M A DINOSAUR!" Just don't expect to get any traction on the ice with your clumsy reptilian feet. If you evolve into some little ratlike critter, on the other hand...

There's no blasting off into space once you've filled in your evolution chart in EVO, though your ultimate goal is to become a human being and gain the ability to pee standing up. That is truly the pinnacle of our beautiful development.

Related Links:

Spore vs Evolution
Atheists Riled Up Over Spore
Crush Object: 8 Ways Will Wright Owns

The Dividing RPG: Secret of Mana

Nadia Oxford — Tue, 02 Sep 2008 20:00:00 GMT

Squaresoft's Secret of Mana will be coming to Virtual Console this September, probably as Seiken Densetsu 2. It's probably a good thing Square-Enix didn't try to reshuffle the Mana titles when they came to America. Re-numbering Final Fantasy already requires more math than I want to do outside a school setting.

(Yes, I was a dunce, and I still am according to expert testimony.)

Secret of Mana's VC revival got people a-muttering on message boards and IRC. And I was shocked and appalled to learn that there are people out there who care not for Randi's pastel-coloured adventure to find a giant tree.

They called it dated.

They called it boring.

They called it buggy, and "buggy" is actually being generous. By all programming logic, every copy of Secret of Mana should have imploded on the store shelves.

I might be biased. Secret of Mana was my first RPG outside of the Dragon Warrior/DragonQuest series, so it wasn't too hard for me to be blown away by the harrowing story of an orphan who was fathered by a sword.

On the other hand, I have no problem going back to old games and calling myself a loser for ever enjoying them. I bought Breath of Fire II on the Virtual Console a few months back and now I'm trying to remember what brand of crack I was smoking when I thought that was a playable game.

But when I play Secret of Mana, it always feels, if you allow me to borrow Chuck Mangione's body for a second, so good. I love the bright graphics and detailed enemy sprites. I love the towns that can't help but be rainbow-coated tourist attractions even if it's full of shuffling zombies and is neighbour to the shrine of a death cult. I love the three-player option that let my younger brother act like a total dick while I was trying to save the world. I love having to backtrack and help my brainless computer-controlled partners figure out how a door works while metal crawlers chase me and burn my ass. Oh wait, I hated that. That was bullshit.

I love wondering if Squaresoft knew they were naming their female hero after a Jewish holiday that encourages revelers to get really drunk.

Finally, I love the music. Calm and summery, Into the Thick of It remains one of my favourite pieces for the "overworld" music in any game. But even that doesn't touch The Dark Star or Still of the Night.

Oh God, that last piece initiated Griffon Hand flashbacks. Fetch me my Dragoon Lance, Billy.

Secret of Mana remains the only Mana game that I would jump in front of a bus to protect. Even Seiken Densetsu 3, which received a lovely fan translation, never grabbed me. I, however, grabbed the Game Boy Advance's Sword of Mana, threw it on the ground and jumped on top of it with steel-toed boots. Take that, relentless menu navigation.

Perhaps I was not meant to understand the ways of others, as they were not meant to understand me.

Or maybe my taste rocks and everyone else's sucks. Yeah, that has to be it!

Related Links:

TVTropes' "Woolseyisms"
Square-Enix's Coup Brings Back Memories
Know Your Final Fantasy IV Trivia. It Could Save Your Life.

Mario Will Not Retire. He Will Outlive Us All.

Nadia Oxford — Wed, 27 Aug 2008 02:05:00 GMT

Growing up, we all kind of hated the rich kid. Even if he was the sweetest child in the world who only wanted to share his toys and candy and have us come over and play in his hedge maze (remember that episode of Care Bears? If not, silly me, I just made up another euphemism for sex), we'd lapse into an uncomfortable, cringing silence around him, like dogs in the presence of an alpha. When he wasn't around, we'd seethe and hiss in his direction.

There are gamers in this world who are similarly intimidated by the existence of our hairy king, Mario. He benevolently brought many of us into this glorious, mind-gelling hobby. He has walked, run and jumped with us since we were children. Thanks to Mushroom Kingdom logic, we have baffled our teachers with adamant declarations about raccoons flying and fireballs bouncing underwater. Just last year, we soared through space with our magic plumber and visited more fantastic planes than the Little Prince.

Mario is grand. And that's why the latest Internet fad, in which bloggers call for his retirement, is impotent and sad.

I'm still unsure who first decided to make the ill declaration; likely someone desperate to crown himself King Controversy. This time, freelancer Patrick Goss takes the throne and gives us his reasons why Mario should give it all up and open a spaghetti farm.

The article is admittedly well-written and free from the venom that usually shoots from the mouths of message board trolls who feel qualified to look down on Shigeru Miyamoto. Still, I feel obligated to counter.

I don't feel like Mario needs to “bow out gracefully.” The Mario games are not a television series being torn apart by epic writer fights and demands for more money. We receive one, maybe two Mario games per console generation, with the NES being the obvious exception. Each title is invariably well-received and loved. In the interest of not starting a war, I'm not going to say too much about Super Mario Blacksheep--er, Sunshine.

Goss mentions Disney, which doesn't manufacture much in the way of Mickey Mouse cartoons lately and instead has moved on to other properties. He's right. Be sure to catch The Little Mermaid XXVII: Ariel's Hysterectomy, available on DVD this summer.

The thesis of Goss' article argues that Mario is in danger of being taken for granted or becoming passe. There was a time when Mario was passe; he choked desperately on Sonic the Hedgehog's wake. We all left him behind to go play with Sega's new pet. When it slowly became obvious that Sonic had rabies, Mario was waiting for us. We were sheepish, but we had learned a lesson. Oh God, did we learn a lesson.

Mario was every kid's hero when I was growing up and he remains a hero to young kids. If you think any differently, visit a game store and watch the kids pore over him and chatter about their own experiences in the same excited way we talked about Super Mario 2 and its successors. There's nothing to be gained from taking that away from them.

Related Links:

Super Mario World is Terrifying!
WiiWare: Nintendo, Babe, it Just Isn't Working Out
So I Hear Folks Are Upset With Nintendo

Whatcha Listening To: The Earthbound Soundtrack

Nadia Oxford — Mon, 25 Aug 2008 23:01:00 GMT

I'm in an Earthbound frame of mind these days, which is a good place to be. With the release of the Mother 3 fan translation inching closer and some very pleasant message board conversations that remind me why I actually sacrificed precious naps to play through Itoi's masterpiece, I've taken to thinking about what makes Earthbound special.

I could sit here for hours relaying all the reasons (okay, twenty minutes--I type fast), but one of the main reasons warrants its own entry: the music.

Earthbound is probably the most underappreciated title in video gaming's short but passionate history. Everything was overlooked: the expressive graphics, the innovative battle system, the emotional story that perfectly balances bizarre fun with a deep, subtle story about growing up and leaving home...and, of course, the music. Earthbound is not a game that can be appreciated with a glance ("God, what baby graphics. Who made them, Crayola?") or a quick listen ("This music is too cutesy"). You're required to experience it from beginning to end. Admittedly, the music took a while to grow on me, but when it did, it hit me like a Mr Saturn to the face.

I think the first track that made me aware of what I was listening to was Sanctuary Guardian, which serves as the boss music in some of Ness' Sanctuary locations. You'll notice I said "some:" the beauty thing about Earthbound is that the soundtrack is so blessedly mixed, you'll rarely get tired of any one theme. Unlike most games, there's no hard rule about a boss being introduced exclusively by some Bad Guy Ballad. It's all about how well the music fits an enemy or situation. Hence why Kraken of the Sea applies to Ness' battle with the Kraken sea monster, but is also used for battles with many robotic enemies.

Of course, each of the four heroes has his or her own theme, standard issue in most RPGs: everyone gets a sword, a motive, possibly an outrageous hairdo and their own theme. Earthbound does an exceptional job expressing what makes each character special through their music. Paula's theme is quiet but somehow indicative of bigger things at work, which is suitable for such a powerful character. Jeff's theme is shy and hesitant. Poo's carries a mystical Eastern flavour for obvious reasons and Ness' a Flash of Memory conjures images of home. The Earthbound soundtrack deserves to be on any iPod--as is, in all its 16-bit glory.

Be wary about mixing popular culture and Earthbound, though. You get horrors like Ronald McGiygas. You cannot grasp the true form of Giygas' Big Mac Attack.

TVTropes' "Woolseyisms"

Nadia Oxford — Thu, 21 Aug 2008 23:20:00 GMT

It's rare that we give much thought to the good men and women who turn our video game text from "YOU LUCKY ARE WINNER!" to something dignified. But where there are exceptions, there is the potential for small wars. By far one of the most controversial names in game translation and localisation is Mr Ted Woolsey.

Ted Woolsey translated many of Square-Enix's best-known 16-bit works, including Secret of Mana, Final Fantasy VI and Super Mario RPG. To give you an idea of how divided gamers are over this gentlemen, consider that Woolsey hasn't done any substantial translation work since the death of the Super Nintendo but his name alone makes people jump up and down like testosterone-driven baboons.

TV Tropes has a long and rambling Wiki entry about Woolsey, his followers and his haters. For the sake of a quick crash course, Woolsey was (in)famous for adding his own voice to his translations. This "voice" gave us something to smile at in the place of Japanese puns we couldn't understand (except for purists who can't understand why we don't think sound-alike sushi name jokes are funny). His voice also added a good deal of depth to what was, for most of us, an epic story. Final Fantasy II US had an okay thing going with illegitimate moon brothers or whatever, but Final Fantasy III US--or Final Fantasy VI, if you prefer--took on themes that were unheard of and still go largely untouched by RPGs today. Woolsey had to convey Terra's identity crisis, suicide, unwanted pregnancy and the friggin' Apocalypse while keeping the game text family friendly.

Oh, and he wasn't allowed to make references to anyone dying, even though Kefka remains the only Square villian who killed people like bugs for the sheer joy of it.

Woolsey was especially grand at balancing his own jokes with the original source material. Working Designs' games, as well as some fan translations, often slash and burn the Japanese story for the sake of a cock joke. Excessive swears is usually a good indication of translators taking things a bit far. "Kuso" is an all-purpose Japanese curse that shows up everywhere, but it's relatively mild ("Damn" or "Shit", depending on your mood). Things rarely get raunchier than that. Contrary to popular belief, Japan is aware of which games and shows are meant for children, and it acts accordingly.

By the way, Final Fantasy VI Advance did an excellent job touching up Woolsey's translation while keeping its friendly ghost alive. I recommend it because Woolsey was forced to cut a lot of the game text due to space constraints. Admittedly, there's some stuff there you could probably do without seeing...like Emperor Ghestal's suggestion that Celes mate with Kefka to produce magic-infused progeny for his new Empire. Go ahead and take that one to bed with you.

Related Links:

Know Your Final Fantasy IV Trivia. It Could Save Your Life.
Would You Play a Final Fantasy VII Remake? Hmmm?
Gaming on a Train: Final Fantasy IV

Ecco the Dolphin: Was This Game Ever Considered Fun?

Nadia Oxford — Thu, 21 Aug 2008 22:01:00 GMT

I usually don't have any trouble tossing a bad game on the street with a suitcase full of its clothes. But over my long bitter life I've played a handful of games that I desperately want to love, but alas, cannot because they're abusive. But I keep letting them back into my home because I convince myself that maybe they've changed.

At the forefront of Team Uneasy is Sega's Ecco the Dolphin. Ecco was an exciting critter to have around in 1992; our generation was gung-ho about saving the Earth and a game about a dolphin was an imaginative idea (because plumbers that don raccoon suits and fly is just a bit mundane). Ecco the Dolphin puts a watery spin on platforming with your main worry being the danger of drowning rather than jumping over bottomless pits.

Even the story is compelling (it's a fish story! Ha!). Instead of running down a lost princess, Ecco must find his lost pod, which was sucked up by an ocean-hoovering alien race. Ecco travels through caverns, braves the frigid Arctic waters and studies the ruins of Atlantis before he goes back in time to challenge the dolphin-eaters.

I dig dolphins. Dolphins are probably the only species on Earth that enjoy life to the very fullest. I love the idea of a game that lets you dart and frisk around in warm tropical waters because God knows I'm not going to be able to afford a vacation anytime soon. That's where Ecco the Dolphin fails, though: you don't dart, frisk and jump. Actually, you do for one fraction of the opening stage and it's a thrill. Then the Oceanwide Tragedy happens, the music darkens to indicate serious business and suddenly you're creeping slowly through thick herds of jellyfish like a sullen commuter on Monday evening.

In addition, sharks, horror-crabs and a buffet of evil fish are all suddenly big on the idea of punching holes in Ecco. Problem is that they can't wait to sink their teeth, horns and giant enemy crab claws into him, so the sea is thick with baddies. It's been a while since I've been in school, but I was made to understand that the sea is a pretty big place. Maybe aquatic life should be spaced out a little more? I know the sea can be a bad place for dolphins, but I didn't know sharks wait in line for a piece of frisky flesh.

I also didn't know sharks spawn as soon as you turn your back. For a game that's supposed to make us aware of thinning ocean life, not much in Ecco's world is going extinct in a real hurry.

Worse, touch an enemy and your life plummets in no time thanks to a lack of recovery time. It's a frustrating affair. I want to swim and have fun. I don't want to slither through narrow spike-lined caverns, foraging desperately for air. At least, not for years at a time.

I experience the same frustrations every time I load up Ecco the Dolphin.

"So stop loading it, stupid!"

I said I like dolphins. I never said I was as smart as one.

Oooh, herring.

Related Links:

Independent at a Price: Sega and Platinum Games
Gaga for Segaga
Where Is Yu Suzuki?

The Chrono Trigger Port: Are You Excited or Disappointed?

Nadia Oxford — Wed, 02 Jul 2008 23:30:00 GMT

Though the 16-bit console wars were savage in the early '90s, the end was in sight by 1995 and the Super Nintendo was crowned the obvious winner.

(Except by pouty Genesis fanboys who feebly compared Phantasy Star IV to Final Fantasy VI. I mean, it's a good try, but...nah.)

The Genesis was panting and dry-heaving at the finish line, but the Super Nintendo barely broke a sweat. In fact, it looked healthier than ever thanks to an injection of A+ games at the end of its life. One such title was Chrono Trigger, a now-legendary RPG by Square(-Enix). We should all hope for the dignified hero's death that the Super Nintendo recieved thanks to Chrono Trigger's legacy.

Now Crono (Chrono?) and his friends are being drawn out of stasis to appear on the Nintendo DS. It's been well over ten years since we last saw our friends. Sure, Crono got up once or twice to grunt and take a pee: the result was a limited mention in Chrono Trigger's sequel, Chrono Cross. Though Chrono Cross still stands on its own merits (a fantastic soundtrack being one), many fans insisted that the charm of Chrono Trigger was absent from the game. Speaking for myself, I can tell Square was going for something different with Chrono Cross, but I have to admit the attempt to turn a fun-loving shonen adventure into something about three shades darker than its source material didn't appeal to me. I missed Crono. I missed Marle, Robo, Luca and Ayla.

Now they're coming back. Fans partied naked in the streets when the initial announcement broke through in the form of an ominous ticking clock and a press release boasting a perfect port of the original Super Nintendo game.

Yes, a "port." Not an upgrade, which is what we've come to expect of Square-Enix Super Nintendo titles released on the DS (one such example being the upcoming Final Fantasy IV DS.

"Hold on, hoss," says a deflated fan, putting his clothes back on. "Should we be excited about a port? What about a remake? What about extra features?"

Fair questions. We've waited this long for some good Chrono Trigger news (the laggy, clunky Playstation port was the furthest thing from good news). Should we be this excited about paying over thirty bucks for something that, by all rights, should be on the Virtual Console and available for eight bucks?

Please note that I am a sucker and will buy this in a futile attempt to re-capture the nostalgia of that muggy summer in 1995. Regardless, I really want to see some awesome bonus content out of this. I've heard that Chrono Trigger is full of unused ideas, the most popular one being the "Singing Mountain" hidden deep within the cartridge. There's also word of an unused battle arena that brought grim joy to the downtrodden people of the future rotting under Lavos' rule. That would be a cheerful addition.

I am not upset that the original spritework will remain. Nothing against the work Square-Enix has been doing with the DS, but whereas Final Fantasy IV's original sprites were charmingly ugly, Chrono Trigger is still a beauty. Today's games have polygons a-plenty. Sprites are a lost art and should be preserved whenever possible.

We'll all be watching to see how this pans out, I'm sure.